Disappearance at Devil's Rock (22 page)

It's a cooler-than-normal late August day. There's no humidity and an underlying crispness in the air that makes autumn easier to imagine. Her fat tires chew up the blacktop and spit out small bits of sand and rock. The sun is bright, and Kate regrets leaving the house without sunglasses. She thinks about taking her bulky helmet off (it's a charcoal gray/black and it makes her head look like a mushroom cap) and letting the wind blast through her hair, but she won't stop the bike. Now that she's out on the road and by herself, she doesn't want to stop pedaling ever. The urge to be the one who disappears suddenly becomes a compulsion. Maybe the people who go away are the ones who are not afraid, not sad, and not alone. Maybe there's a place where they gather and say things like
What is to be done with all the silly people we left behind?

Kate turns off Massapoag Avenue and its shallow, dirt-covered shoulders and onto a sleepy residential side street. She rides down
the road's exact middle without yellow lines to guide her. Shortly after the street curls to the left she hops a tall curb, which is no match for her greedy tires, and then powers her bike through the dried-out front lawn of Josh's house. Almost all the way across she says, “Oops,” out loud, remembering that Josh's parents freak out over their grass. She makes it to the driveway and gently lays down her bike, a fallen apple in front of the closed garage doors. She takes off her mushroom helmet and leaves it on the handlebars. As she walks to the front door, she hopes that she sees the rut her tires chewed through the lawn only because she knows it's there.

Kate rings the bell.

Josh's mom is a pair of eyes peeking through a small rectangular window. Kate waves. Mrs. Griffin opens the door. She wears jeans and a black fleece zipped all the way up to her chin. She says, “Kate?” like her name is a puzzle.

“Hi, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Hi, yes, wow, I wasn't expecting—it's great to see you.” Josh's mom leans her head over and past Kate. “Is your mom here, too? Are you here by yourself?”

“It's just me.” Kate shrugs. “I rode my bike over. Wanted, you know, to get out of the house, be in the sun.”

“I can imagine. Are you doing okay?” Mrs. Griffin groans at herself and says, “Of course I know things aren't okay, but are
you
doing okay?”

“Yes and no. A lot of sitting around and waiting.” Kate stops talking and gives a half smile, a derp face, as Tommy would call it. It's obvious that Mrs. Griffin doesn't know what to do with her. And that's fine. Other people should be made to feel uncomfortable, too.

“Your mom let you come over by yourself?”

Now that she's admitted to leaving out the diary pages to Mom, Kate decides to be direct with everyone, and to say whatever comes
to mind. Without painfully deliberating and weighing every word of each response, talking will be easier. “Kinda. She thinks I went to my friend Sam's house. Which I will do. I didn't lie to her. I'm going there, but only after.”

“After what?”

“Can Josh come outside? Maybe shoot some hoops with me for a little while? Sam won't play basketball with me, and she'll sit in her room and talk about Tommy, and I want to be outside for a little bit first. It'll probably do Josh some good, too, don't you think?”

“Um, yeah, okay, I think so. He's home. In his room. I'll ask him. But—” She pauses and looks out over Kate's head again.

“But what?”

“If a news van or anything like that comes by while you guys are outside, I'm going to have to call you in. Is that okay?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Thank you. It's just—we've been getting a lot of calls and, um, messages today, from different places, and it's been, I don't know.” She stops and shakes her head.

Kate says, “Yeah. Us too. Mom handles all that.”

“I'm sure she does. She's a strong person, your mom. Anyway, this was very nice of you to come over, Kate. Do you want to come in? Need a drink or anything?”

“Nah. I'm good. And I'll wait over in the driveway for Josh.”

“Josh. Right. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Kate walks down the stairs and thinks about not waiting for Josh and going into the backyard and then into the woods from which Tommy disappeared. Maybe in her own diary she could create a short comic in which she calls out Tommy's name into those crowded trees and her voice is enough to bring him back. Instead, Kate sits down cross-legged on the driveway next to her bike. She
stares out at the empty street and the houses that look like they've always been part of the landscape. She imagines the houses as the backs of giant sleeping monsters, and she wishes to see what it all will look like when the houses finally get up and crawl away. The garage door whirs to life behind her and Josh walks out, bending under the still-rising door when it's halfway open. He has a basketball cuffed against his left side. It's Boston Celtics green and white, an outdoor ball, the kind that is all rubber, smells like a tire, and bounces as wildly as an excited electron.

Josh says, “Hey.” His hair is just-got-a-haircut short. It's thick, bristly, like wire. His Washington Nationals T-shirt is so dark blue it's almost black. His baggy light blue shorts go past his knees and down to midankle. His basketball sneakers are big and red, untied, and on so loosely there's no way his feet won't fall out when he takes a step.

Kate says, “Hey. Is that the best ball you have?”

“My good ball is in my dad's car.”

“Gimme.”

Josh lets the ball fall toward her. Kate snags it, takes two hard dribbles to the net and throws up a shot with two hands. She knows she'll never be a basketball player for any team yet is self-conscious that she still shoots with two hands instead of one. Her T-shirt comes up over her stomach, and she pulls it back down in midshot. The ball bounces hard off the backboard even though she didn't intend it to. The ball's first two bounces are over her head, and she has to sprint to chase down the rebound before the ball lands on the lawn.

Josh says, “Is there anything going on, or, um, new with Tommy?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know. Everyone is sorry. I'm sorry you were the last one to see him.” If it sounds like an accusation, then good.

Josh hides his hands in his pockets and edges out toward the bas
ketball hoop. He looks behind him, toward the bay window, as though looking for someone else who heard what Kate said to him.

She says, “I gave Mom the rest of Tommy's diary.” Her having finally given up the diary to Mom is an act of acceptance, although whoever said
Acceptance is the price of freedom
has a funny definition of freedom. Kate doesn't feel free; in fact she feels like a quitter, and feels sadder than ever, believing like Mom does, that their Tommy is truly gone, and gone forever. In a few weeks Kate will give her new therapist honest attempts at further articulating why and how she thought she was helping Mom by initially keeping the diary and tearing out the pages and leaving them in the living room, although she'll never be able to adequately explain her actions. And with the passage of time, those actions will belong to another person, someone she'll miss but who will be no longer an influence on her life.

Josh: “The detective was asking me stuff about the diary yesterday. And I saw the picture of the shadow-man-thing he drew today, too.”

“Right. So that's about it. But looks like there are pages missing, though.”

Josh doesn't say anything.

Kate says, “Is your mom watching us?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Let's shoot.” Kate shoots, pulls down her shirt. This shot goes in. Josh taps the ball back out to her in that annoying, nonchalant way of boys, making it look like giving any sort of physical effort beyond breathing is the uncoolest thing in the world. That's what they call a hardo, right? She hates it, and wonders why would Josh, of all kids, act like that in front of her, and now. Josh isn't Luis, the one she has an obvious crush on. If he's not equivalent to a big brother, Josh is like a first cousin, one you see at all the family gatherings and with which you swap your most embarrassing stories about your freaky, related parents.

Kate rotates the basketball in her hand and says, “I thought you hated the Celtics.”

“I don't
hate
hate them. I won the ball at Canobie Lake Park.”

“You won it?”

Josh shrugs. “Yeah.”

Kate thinks he's lying. She thinks she can tell when he's lying. She throws the ball to him hard. He's slow to put up his hands and the ball hits him in the gut. He struggles to swallow a reaction and not touch where the ball hit him.

She says, “Your turn.”

Josh shoots. His form has an odd hitch and wiggle to it, with the ball down by his hip, he turns, or swivels, and desperately heaves it up there, as though his arms aren't strong enough. It takes a long time to get the shot off, but he makes it.

Kate says, “Fancy.”

Josh smiles and says, “Catchphrase, right?”

His saying Tommy's saying to her, it might be the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a week. She says, “Maybe.”

Josh goes through his ritual contortions again and makes a second shot in a row.

Kate says, “Did Arnold give you any coins like he gave Tommy? I found them. On Tommy's bureau.”

Josh doesn't say anything and dribbles the ball between both hands slowly, awkwardly. Even Kate notices how slow and uncoordinated he's gotten, compared to how fast and athletic he was when they were all in elementary school together. How does that happen?

Kate: “There's one coin that looks like a nickel but has a weird eye on it.”

Josh shoots the ball and front-rims it. It bounces back to him. He says, “Yeah. I saw that coin. Arnold gave each of us a coin.”

“He did? So you got one, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you show it to me?”

Kate's cell phone goes off. The ring tone is the opening riff of the Clash's “London Calling.” It's her mom's favorite song. Kate thinks it and the Clash are just okay. Joe Strummer's voice sounds like an old, drunk person saying
Fuck you
, and it makes her feel sad for him. She likes the other singer better.

Kate holds a finger against her lips and says to Josh, “Don't say anything and stop dribbling.” She answers the phone. “Hi. I made it here, Mom.”

Elizabeth: “Great. Can I talk with Nancy for a second?”

Nancy is Sam's mother. No she cannot talk to Nancy. Kate says, “She's in the bathroom. I'll call before I leave. Bye,” and she hangs up.

Josh: “Who's in the bathroom?”

“Don't worry about it. Go inside and get the coin that Arnold gave you. I want to see it.”

“I don't have it. I gave it to Tommy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“The cracked Lincoln head penny?”

“Yeah.”

“I found that one, too.”

“I figured.”

“He'd put them both in a plastic sandwich bag.”

Josh looks back toward the bay window like he's waiting for his mother to tell him that he has to go inside.

Kate says, “Yo. Shoot the ball.”

Josh dribbles a little. He doesn't shoot.

Kate: “I gave the coins to Allison.”

“Allison?”

“Um, Detective Murtagh.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“You didn't know her first name?”

“Not really.”

“Haven't you guys talked?”

“Yeah, of course, for like hours.”

“She's searching my room now. Did you let her search yours?”

“No. I mean, she hasn't searched my room but she hasn't asked to.” Josh talks slow, like he's stuck in time. “She can if she wants, you know.”

“Why did you give it to Tommy?”

“What?”

“The crack-head penny?” Kate laughs despite herself.

Josh smiles. “I don't know nothing about a crack-head penny.”

“Seriously. Why?”

“I dunno. Tommy's the coin guy.”

“Was?”

“I didn't say ‘was.'”

“You sure? Gimme the ball if you're not gonna shoot. It's my turn anyway.”

“I said, ‘Tommy
is
the coin guy.' Not ‘was.'”

“Okay. I believe you.” Kate is convinced she can tell whenever anyone is lying; sometimes it's so easy to tell. And Josh, he's the easiest. Always has been. It had to be part of why Tommy and Josh have been lifelong friends. Josh is safe like that.

Kate shoots and the ball goes in off the backboard. She wasn't trying to use the backboard. “Why did Arnold give you guys the coins?”

It was their fifth time with Arnold at Devil's Rock. First week of August, and the hottest day ever, the kind that slumped his shoulders
and jellied his legs and threw his internal thermostat out of whack. Josh's forehead, right along the hairline, was melting. It was around noon and there wasn't much shade to be had on the rock.